


an exercise in the observation of two (extremely) oblivious huntsman academy professors

by mooksie01



Series: Fair Game Week 2020, Except It's All Late :) [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Beacon dance, Brief Cameo from the Bees!, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fair Game Week (RWBY), Flirting, Gratuitous Fight Scene, M/M, Minor Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Not Canon Compliant, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Qrow Wears Skirts Sometimes And We Support Him, Qrow and Clover Teach At Beacon, Qrow and Clover are married, SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE FIC, School Dances, The OC Is EXTREMELY Dense, Vytal Festival (RWBY), au-ish, nosy students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23205631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooksie01/pseuds/mooksie01
Summary: Fair Game Week Day One: FlirtingOlive Pithos wasn't being nosy. It was just that Professor Branwen and Professor Ebi were so painfully obvious about their flirting without ever actually DOING anything about it, and if she had to witness Professor Branwen feel up Professor Ebi's arms one more time, she might actually scream.So she wasn't being nosy. She was just... noticing. Because it was impossible not to.And through class transitions, training battles, and school dances, she kept noticing--not that her teammates were helping.So WHY won't Professor Branwen and Professor Ebi just kiss already?!(aka i deeply love outsider pov fics but there are basically zero for this pairing, so i took it upon myself to write one for fair game week. be the change you wanna see in the world, kids.)
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Fair Game Week 2020, Except It's All Late :) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668370
Comments: 22
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So I wasn't initially going to participate in Fair Game Week, but then all of the stuff that's going on in the world right now started happening, but worse than before, and I decided it might do me some good to focus my attention on something less stressful, so here we are! That said, the purpose of me participating at all was to be LESS stressed, so I plan to do all of the prompts, but I'm going to be releasing them at my own pace. Thus why this fic for day one is only just now coming out. Stay tuned for other fics from me in the coming weeks :D
> 
> Anyway, I love Outsider POV fics, and there are very few of those, so I wrote one! I hope you all like it! This takes place post-canon, but obviously the canon is modified because we were wronged. All that really matters for the purposes of this fic are that Salem is gone and Clover survived. 
> 
> Two songs are referenced toward the end of the fic, and if you wanna listen to them, you're more than welcome to! The first one, which is called "Wish I Knew You" by The Revivalists, I chose more-so for its vibe and because its a bop. The second one, "Honeybee" by The Head and the Heart, is definitely more relevant lyric-wise, as I've always thought it worked really well for Fair Game (and for the Bees, if you're so inclined!). Neither song is absolutely necessary to the plot, so you can just skip past the lyric excerpts if they're not your thing and you won't lose anything :)

‘BATL 1710: Weapon Construction and Maintenance’ was beginning to become an extremely tiring class.

It’s not that there was anything wrong with the class itself! No, Olive had always been curious and ready to learn about any and everything that she could! It was just that, well….

The professor was really starting to get on her nerves.

“…Versatility is _vital_ in the field. Confining yourself to just one fighting style—or to over-reliance on your semblance—could kill you. Even more important, though, is _experience_. No matter how good you all think you are in here, no matter how high your test scores, or whatever—school is an important step, but it’s _nothing_ compared to what you’ll encounter in the real world if you continue on your path to being huntsmen and huntresses.” Olive’s professor paused, here. He had been pacing back and forth in front of the rows of students, but now he turned to face them, seeming to make solemn eye contact with each and every one of them simultaneously. Olive felt a shiver run down her spine. “Each day out there is worth a week in this place. Never stop moving forward, any of you.”

The bell rang with perfect dramatic timing to punctuate Professor Branwen’s ever-lovely Ominous Closing Remarks.

Like the flick of a switch, he shifted into a more relaxed stance, a quiet smile sliding onto his face. “Don’t you kids forget about your design assignments due Monday! I want to see at least a tentative idea for a style-altering upgrade to each of your weapons—I don’t expect full mechanical blueprints, just give me a loose design! And no, Miss Ivy, I will not buy it if you say your dog ate it, there hasn’t been a dog here since my nieces attended, and it does not count if you create one with your semblance!”

Olive snickered behind her hand as the girl that Professor Branwen had called out blushed and fled the classroom. She was constantly refusing to complete assignments and blaming it on various creatures—including, on one memorable occasion, a penguin. Which. Were well-known for not really existing outside of Solitas. Certainly not in Vale.

Okay, so Professor Branwen was actually pretty cool, despite being kinda old (not that Olive would ever dare to utter that sentiment out loud—she wasn’t sure that anyone would find her body). Olive had been a fan of him since day one, really. It wasn’t that the teacher was doing anything _wrong_ , per se, it was just that….

“Qrow!”

Olive sighed heavily, sinking further down in her seat. The class she had immediately following Weapons Construction was her elective history course—'HIST 2020: Atlas and the Great War.’ It was held in the same classroom in the timeslot right after Professor Branwen’s, and, under normal circumstances, that would be a blessing! No rushing to get somewhere else in the ten minutes between classes! She got to keep her favorite seat! The extra time allowed her to have a snack (or two, if she felt like she’d earned it)! She could scribble her way through the homework she’d saved ‘til the last possible second! By all means, her scheduling should’ve been a massive win!

Except it wasn’t, really. Because being in the classroom during transition period meant that every other day, she had to sit through the most painful show on Remnant….

Professor Branwen turned to the door as a tall, broad figure slipped between the many students that were streaming out to their next classes. His face lit up (like it did every time), and he immediately looked about twenty years younger. “Clover.”

Olive sighed miserably.

Professor Ebi carefully worked his way down the steps to the lecture platform, making sure not to bump into any of the frazzled pupils who had just woken up from mid-class naps and were now attempting to sprint to their next classes before the late bell rang. Once he hit the ground, he immediately pulled Professor Branwen into a tight hug that lasted a little too long to be considered “friendly,” then, after separating, held out a cardboard cup to his colleague.

“The line was short, so I got you a coffee on my way here.” Professor Ebi _winked_ and it took all of Olive’s willpower not to audibly groan. “Lucky you.”

Professor Branwen laughed and took the offered beverage, wrapping his fingers around it to absorb its warmth. “Mm. Guess so,” he said. He shifted the coffee to just one hand and reached out with the other to pick at Professor Ebi’s steel blue button-up—probably one of those imaginary pieces of fuzz that he so liked to “notice” as an excuse to touch Professor Ebi’s biceps.

_Hngh._

Olive just might bash her head against the desk. Maybe it would knock her out. Maybe she’d fall into a coma. Then she wouldn’t have to watch this anymore. Or, better yet, maybe she’d get amnesia and forget all about every time she’d had to bear witness to this particular spectacle.

“Is this a new shirt? Don’t think I’ve seen you wear it before. The color looks good on you.” He rubbed his palm down Professor Ebi’s chest and looked up at the other teacher through his eyelashes like he was a teenage girl flirting with her first crush, rather than the forty-something-year-old licensed huntsman that he actually was. “Nice material.”

“Yeah? I’m glad you think so. I just got this one a few days ago.” Professor Ebi’s answering grin was like staring directly at the sun—it could not have been more obvious that he was over-pleased with Professor Branwen’s reaction to his gift and general muscly-ness.

Olive gagged just as her combat partner, Cyrus, slid into the seat next to her. Immediately she began to unload her woes, “They’re completely terrible—and so clueless! They literally could not be flirting with each other any harder, and yet they don’t do _anything_ about it, Cyrus! They just stand there being totally gross between classes!”

Cyrus shrugged, unsympathetic. Behind him, his large white wings fluffed up momentarily before smoothing back down as he got himself adjusted in his seat and started to pull out his notebooks for class. “Don’t watch them, then, Liv.” He carded his fingers through his hair as he also glanced at the two professors. “I still don’t see what you’re even talking about, anyways.”

Professor Ebi trailed his hand up and down the length of Professor Branwen’s arm as something that one or the other of them had said caused them both to lean into each other and laugh quietly.

Olive shot Cyrus a dead-eyed look.

“You’re just in denial because of your massive crush on Professor Branwen, which, again I remind you, is _weird_ , seeing as how he’s like _fifty_ and also my _weapons teacher_ ,” she scoffed.

“Hey, it’s not like I’m chasing after the guy! There’s nothing wrong with being able to appreciate incredible legs. And eyes. And everything, really.” He smirked at her, and Olive knew that he was just saying it to rile her up, but she still couldn’t help but wretch.

“You’re disgusting.”

Cyrus paid her no mind, straightening out his notebooks very deliberately. “Don’t be homophobic, Livvy.”

“ _Homopho--!”_

She was cut off by another gush of laughter at the front of the room, light and happy, and it would be adorable if it wasn’t _infuriating_ instead. Between Cyrus and her professors, Olive was pretty sure she’d be foaming at the mouth in due time.

Professor Ebi was smiling down at Professor Branwen, honest and open, like they were the only two people in the classroom.

On the contrary, Olive had to strain to hear what he was saying over the sounds of other students filtering in.

“I’ll see you in a couple hours? We could get lunch together?” And he sounded so gods-damned hopeful that Olive felt like she would actually tear out her hair if Professor Branwen didn’t just kiss him right that second.

Instead, Professor Branwen patted Professor Ebi’s cheek, which pinkened almost immediately. “It’s a date, Boy Scout.”

Then he turned around; gathered his materials; clipped his collapsed weapon to the holster that sat over the small of his back; and walked out of the lecture hall like nothing had even happened, cape and long, flowing skirt _swish_ ing softly with each step.

Professor Ebi stared longingly after him the whole way.

“You know,” Cyrus started beside her, chewing away on what she was ninety percent sure was _her_ snack that she’d brought to eat between classes, “maybe I do kinda see it.”

Olive buried her head in her hands and screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the middle of the semester, and Olive was in agony. 

As the Vytal Festival—the first one since the War for Humanity ended—rapidly approached, Beacon’s headmistress, Professor Goodwitch, had apparently decided that a showcase of sorts was in order. And thus, the academy’s staff had been paired together, their students combined, and new “workshop” classes instituted.

From what Olive had been able to gather thus far from reading through the syllabus, the workshops were going to consist primarily of having students beat the snot out of each other.

Well, that and Professors Ebi and Branwen being completely and totally insufferable, she was sure.

Not for the first time, Olive wondered what Professor Goodwitch had been smoking when she’d decided to pair up these two instructors, in particular.

As the class finished filtering in and got seated in the large training hall that had been outfitted to suit these workshops, Olive watched Professor Branwen cozy up to Professor Ebi to “go over their lesson plans together.” When Professor Ebi _casually_ rested a hand on Professor Branwen’s lower back, just over where his weapon hung, _for stability_ , she had to look away lest she _actually_ explode.

“What’s got you looking so down-in-the-dumps, Olive?” Carmine asked.

Carmine was the faithful (if not infallible) leader of Team CORC, and they had not yet been put through the pain of observing the mating rituals of two aging huntsman academy professors. Olive pitied their poor soul.

She would pity it more if Carmine hadn’t forced the team to sit right in the front row, as close to her professors’ nonsense as possible.

“Yeah, you’d think that someone told you there were no more kittens in the world, or somethin’,” Remus grumbled, his Mistrali accent lending a drawl to his words in the same way that Professor Branwen’s did.

Which brought her right back to the issue at hand.

“Ol’ Liv is just annoyed because she’s tired of Professor Ebi and Professor Branwen flirting all of the time without doing anything, but also she won’t stop being nosy about it, so she’s doing it to herself, and that annoys her even more.” Cyrus stretched his arms above his head, falsely nonchalant in his obvious efforts at teasing her. The effect was ruined when he accidentally smacked someone behind them with his wing and had to turn around to hurriedly apologize.

Olive scowled at him nonetheless.

Carmine frowned at her. “If it bothers you so much, why do you pay it any mind?”

“It’s impossible not to notice!” Olive threw her hands up in the air. “They’re so obnoxiously sweet on each other!”

“I’m sure it’s not _that_ —” Carmine tried to talk her down, but was soundly interrupted by Remus snorting loudly.

“Might not want to finish that thought, Carmine,” he said, and pointed down at the two professors, who were finally moving into the center of the training platform to start class, “Heads up.”

Sure enough, Olive looked back to the training platform to see that Professor Branwen was once again feeling up Professor Ebi’s arms for practically the billionth time. Except that this time they were completely bare, as both instructors were clad in what she presumed to be their normal hunting gear for when they were on proper missions (and even Olive had to admit that Professor Ebi had _very_ good musculature, though she wasn’t happy about it). “You know,” Professor Branwen started, just loud enough for Olive to eavesdrop, “It’s kinda nice to see you back in uniform. It’s been a minute.”

The corner of Professor Ebi’s mouth ticked upward in an expression more coy than Olive was used to from the _many_ flirtatious interactions she’d observed between the two. “I could say the same to you, birdie.”

“Oh my _gods_ ,” she heard Carmine breathe out from beside her, apparently stunned.

She could relate.

“Hmph,” Professor Branwen huffed out, though Olive could see how soft color rose to his face, “I was just thinking that your penchant for going sleeveless might finally catch up to you. You’re not exactly adjusted to the Solitas climate anymore. Wouldn’t want you to be distracted when you and I have a go at it, later… you know I expect your all.”

“Well, lucky for me that you’ll be keeping me warm, huh?” Professor Ebi caught Professor Branwen’s hand and held it for a long moment, during which Olive could scarcely breathe as she begged the gods above for _something_ to break the tension. But then he merely winked at Professor Branwen and turned back to the class, clapping loudly a few times to get everyone’s attention.

“ _Oh my gods_.”

“I _know_ ,” Olive whispered miserably. “They’re always like that! Always!”

“Such a shame, too,” Cyrus made a sharp _tsk_ ’ing sound, like Olive’s mother used to when she or her siblings had done something wrong, “Why does Professor Branwen have to be so obviously into buff, hunky dudes? I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’m good looking. _Obviously_. But how am I supposed to compete with _that_ marble statue? Bullshit, if you ask me.”

Olive smacked him, _hard_ , upside the head. “Stop. Being. Disgusting!”

“Miss Pithos,” Professor Branwen called from a little below her. She snapped to attention, her face growing hot. She sheepishly met his pale red eyes, feeling she was fighting her first ursa all over again. “Please save the battering for an _official_ training match. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” She mumbled, resolving herself mentally to Cyrus’ future murder.

The moment that Professor Branwen looked away, her partner leaned in close to her ear. “Wish he’d look at me like that.” The flush on her cheeks spread down her back, leaving her feeling overheated.

Scratch that, Olive thought furiously, as she inhaled deeply and suppressed all of her immediate violent impulses—what was more painful than murder? Cyrus was in for it, when she figured it out.

Professor Ebi cleared his throat loudly. “ _Anyways_.” He smiled widely at all of the gathered students. “Good morning, everyone! Today marks the first of a series of about eight workshops that we’ll be holding in the coming weeks leading up to the Vytal Festival; Headmistress Goodwitch thought it would benefit you all to get a taste for arena fighting, considering the history of this major event, even if the actual Vytal Festival Tournament won’t be a part of the festivities this year!”

Professor Branwen stepped forward, hands shoved in his pockets and a lazy smirk on his face, picking up Professor Ebi’s lecture seamlessly, “This will also be a good opportunity for you kids to get the chance to find out how you fare against wildly different methods of fighting that you’ve never had to deal with before. While it’s true that a huntsman or huntress’ primary mission should always be the extermination of Grimm, there could be times where you’ll find yourselves taking bounty missions requiring you to capture dangerous individuals, and if that time ever comes, it’ll be useful for you to have ample experience in combat of this type. Not to mention the fact that not every Grimm you fight will be your run-of-the-mill beowolves, ursae, and creeps. Sometimes you might end up tracking down a much older, more evolved Grimm, at which point these sorts of training exercises against others of high intellect and variable technique will be of use to you.”

“With that said,” Professor Ebi said, taking over again as he pulled his scroll out and began to tap away at it, “Qrow and I have placed you all into sparring pairs with other students that should be strangers to you. We’ll begin by having a series of short, one-on-one matches, after which we may entertain the idea of accepting individual challenges if anyone would like to wage a specific match, though, of course, both parties have to consent to any proposed fight, and we will _not_ allow any suspected bullying. After all of that….”

Professor Ebi shared a short, unreadable glance with Professor Branwen, whose smile softened into something more authentic as he started to speak, “Lucky charm, here, and I thought that you all might be interested in seeing a _real_ match between two trained huntsmen. So…” his eyes caught the bright lights above, glinting dangerously, “…if you kids take this seriously and put your all into the next couple of hours, we were considering having a little sparring match of our own.”

With that, the next two hours of what Olive quickly decided was her own personal hell began. She could only focus on closely observing others’ fights for _so long_ before she grew bored and distracted, especially with Professors Ebi and Branwen continuing to touch each other so damn much even as they watched their students’ fights with sharp, analytical eyes.

The only truly thrilling parts of the class were when she and her teammates had their matches, though it was embarrassing when she lost in front of _so many people_. Still, Cyrus and Carmine won their battles, and Remus probably could have, too, if he’d actually tried his hardest.

The sole thing keeping her going was looking forward to Professor Branwen and Professor Ebi’s fight. Sure, she might have been reaching the end of her rope in terms of suffering through their interactions with each other, but the opportunity to watch two pro huntsmen spar was not one to be passed up on. Plus, it would be nice to be able to have them both in the same room and doing something _other_ than shamelessly flirting for once.

By the time the class was finally rolling to a close, Olive was practically asleep, despite Carmine nudging her every few minutes in a desperate attempt to keep her alert. Really, it was their fault for making everyone sit in the front row. Her lack of attention wouldn’t be nearly as obvious if they were in the back.

Still, nothing could keep her from sitting bolt upright when Professor Branwen and Professor Ebi reclaimed their places in the middle of the training platform, the spotlights overhead suddenly seeming to glare all the brighter. It was like she was about to watch a proper arena match, like she had when she was a kid, before everything had gone so wrong all those years ago during the last Vytal Festival, when the old Beacon fell….

Olive shoved those thoughts out of her head. It didn’t help anyone for her to dwell on them, especially while she was _currently sitting_ in the bleachers of one of the many battle-safe rooms in the newly-renovated Beacon Academy. For now, she just wanted to focus on enjoying herself and learning something from her far-more-experienced instructors.

“You all performed very admirably today,” Professor Ebi said, each and every word burning with a pleasure that seemed to warm her from the inside, even though she’d lost, “You should all be very proud of yourselves.”

“But, in the interest of keeping you kids humble, my partner and I are going to go ahead with our sparring match like we promised.” Professor Branwen sounded oddly cocky, and—

Wait a second.

_Partner?_

“They’re _partners_?” Olive stammered, not really speaking to anyone in particular.

Still, Cyrus answered her, “I don’t know.” He sounded serious for once, if confused, like he was giving her query actual consideration. “I thought Professor Ebi was from Atlas, and Professor Branwen definitely graduated from Beacon—I heard his team was a pretty big deal back in the day—so I didn’t think that they’d even attended the same academy. Maybe he just means ‘partner’ in the sense of them being coworkers? Like ‘my partner in educating the youth,’ or some shit?”

Olive’s eyebrows drew together in thought, but she wasn’t given much time to contemplate, as Professor Ebi and Professor Branwen seemed to finish whatever lecture they’d been giving and took their places on opposite sides of the training deck.

A panel of thick glass suddenly slid in front of the stands, and Olive looked over just in time to catch Professor Branwen sliding his scroll back into his pocket. “Extra precautions,” he stated. “Wouldn’t want the hard-light shields to malfunction.”

This only served to befuddle her further, but Professor Ebi seemed to accept it without comment. And then he drew his weapon, and—

“Is that a fuckin’ _fishing rod_?” Remus muttered, clearly taken aback and echoing Olive’s thoughts exactly.

It did indeed appear to be a fishing rod, and as she watched, Professor Ebi cast the line about a few times above his head, warming up.

On the opposite side of the arena, Professor Branwen’s weapon unfolded into a large broadsword with a series of muted mechanical _click_ s. Of course, seeing as how Olive was in his weapons maintenance class, Olive had seen Professor Branwen’s weapon before, so she was far less surprised, though watching how it expanded so smoothly into combat-ready form was always impressive.

“You sure you don’t need me to go easy on you, lucky charm?” Professor Branwen called out to his opponent, shifting the great heft of his sword from one hand to the other with ease. “I seem to recall that it’s been a while since you’ve taken any _real_ huntsman work.”

“Ha, I think I’ll manage. You know it’s always a pleasure to wipe the floor with you.” Professor Ebi lashed at the ground with the metal line of his fishing rod and a shrill cracking sound echoed through the otherwise-silent training room.

All of the students around her seemed to be scarcely breathing, perhaps worried that the “insults” that the two professors were swapping back and forth were actually barbed, but Olive felt a building dread well up inside of her of a different sort.

_Oh no_.

“Oh? Is that how things happen in your dreams? You’ll have to let me know when that comes to pass in real life, ‘cause I haven’t noticed yet.”

_Oh gods_.

“Well, I suppose you’ve got me there; I can’t deny that you appear in my dreams every night….”

_This was so much worse than when they’d just been hanging all over each other._

“Heh. Well, flattery will get you most places, but I’m afraid that I’m still going to have to kick your ass.”

_Someone just put her out of her misery, please_.

“That so? Hm. Good luck.”

And then they were off, trading blows so fast that each move was almost impossible to differentiate from the next, engaging each other in loud clashes of metal-on-metal with each pass. Neither immediately indicated himself to be the clearly superior fighter.

Professor Ebi’s style seemed to revolve more around the philosophy that the best offense was a good defense—his game was more about parrying and restraint and trying to tire his opponent out. Unfortunately for him, though, it quickly became apparent that Professor Branwen wasn’t the type of combatant to tire easily.

Olive watched, in awe, as her Weapons professor darted around the space with all of the grace of a dancer, fluidly evading the snaking strand of Professor Ebi’s line, despite how well-cast it obviously was, switching easily between skilled swordplay and vicious hand-to-hand, content to get in a punch if he could, even when his blade was knocked aside by the metal rod in Professor Ebi’s hands.

During one particularly quick exchange of blows, Professor Ebi reeled his line in at a speed too fast for her eyes to register, flipped his rod around, and stabbed at Professor Branwen’s unguarded abdomen with a harpoon extension that Olive hadn’t even noticed before. Professor Branwen sidestepped almost immediately to evade the thrust, but it didn’t seem to have been Professor Ebi’s intention to make a physical mark, as he changed direction to instead snag one of the guards of the sword, ripping it out of Professor Branwen’s hands and throwing it to the opposite side of the training arena.

Without missing a beat, Professor Branwen dropped to the ground and kicked a leg out, tripping Professor Ebi back a step, and the moment of distraction lasted just long enough for Professor Branwen to hit his coworker with a solid uppercut that had him stumbling even further toward the edge of the ring.

Professor Ebi shook his head and whipped his line around to encase Professor Branwen’s legs, but it was already too late. The rings on Professor Branwen’s left hand lit up with a dark purple glow, and then suddenly his sword was back in his hand. He knocked Professor Ebi’s line aside, something almost careless in the motion, and the hook clattered as it skipped along the ground—once, twice—before retracting back into the pole.

The fighting stopped for just a second as the two men circled each other like beowolves having a territorial dispute.

“Afraid that trick won’t work twice, Ebi,” Professor Branwen said, only sounding a little out of breath, which was _staggering_ considering how fast-paced the fighting had been so far.

“Well, not _anymore_ , maybe.” Professor Ebi shrugged and sighed, sounding put-upon. “Since you got that gravity dust embedded in Harbinger’s pommel, it’s much harder to disarm you.”

“Forgive me if I’m not eager to have my weapon taken away again after what happened last time,” Professor Branwen scoffed, and Olive didn’t know what _that_ meant, but her professors’ eyes were suddenly locked in a way that was strangely intense. Then Professor Branwen moved his thumb ever so slightly on the hilt of his sword, a quiet _click_ rang out, and between one blink and the next, his sword had transitioned into a deathly-sharp scythe.

Olive’s jaw dropped.

“How’s about we finish this?” Professor Branwen taunted, spinning the scythe a few times in front of him before slamming it into the ground. An ominous-sounding _bang_ resonated off the walls.

Professor Ebi just smiled, though. “You always know just what to say.”

He sprang forward, the harpoon firing out of the end of his fishing rod and finding purchase by digging into Professor Branwen’s shoulder. The Weapons professor gritted his teeth as his aura crackled over his skin, not breaking, but indicating that a heavy hit had been dealt. He reached up with one hand to yank the harpoon out of the hole it had torn into his clothes, only for it to immediately be ripped from him when Professor Ebi pushed a button on his weapon’s rod, causing it to retract.

Not one to be so easily daunted, Professor Branwen twirled his scythe in a showy motion that drew Professor Ebi closer, obviously believing that he could take advantage of what he perceived to be a moment of overblown cockiness. Instead, Professor Branwen must have pressed another button, because the long staff of the scythe suddenly shrunk to something much shorter, though the blade stayed curved, and as he shifted it to just one hand, Olive realized that he’d turned it into a modified tonfa.

Professor Ebi’s eyes widened, and he tried to retreat, but Professor Branwen pressed his advantage, swinging his arm around to catch Professor Ebi in the side, a shot ringing out from twin barrels and propelling him across the floor. At the last second, he managed to fire his harpoon, which launched out and embedded itself into the ground, allowing Professor Ebi to grapple back into the combat area.

Professor Branwen converted his weapon back into its broadsword form and swung heavily down onto the metallic cord attached to the harpoon, dislodging it from the floor so that it went rocketing right towards Professor Ebi’s face at an alarming velocity.

Olive winced, preparing for an ugly end to the fight, but then Professor Ebi reached up and flicked the clover-shaped pin on his chest, and miraculously managed to twist out of the way of the incoming pointy end of his own weapon, which clanged loudly on the platform behind him as he made a neat landing back on the opposite side of the training area from Professor Branwen.

Her weapons professor put a hand on his hip and honest-to-the-gods _pouted_ at Professor Ebi. “That doesn’t seem fair!”

Without pausing for a response, he lifted his free arm and the blade of his sword flipped down, a flurry of buckshot firing out at Professor Ebi before the man could fully recover from Professor Branwen’s last attack. His arm was barely impacted by the recoil.

Olive could _sense_ Cyrus drooling next to her.

Professor Ebi rolled out of the way, his aura flickering weakly as a stray bullet happened to catch him in the leg, then lashed out with his line to wrap around Professor Branwen’s waist. Professor Branwen attempted to deflect, but he couldn’t seem to stop the wire from perfectly encircling his body, so when Professor Ebi stood, planted his feet, and _pulled_ on the rod, Professor Branwen went with it.

This turned out to be a mistake.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Professor Ebi’s foot slipped, and as he lost traction on the ground, Professor Branwen’s inertia continued to carry him forward, allowing him to kick a leg out in mid-air and plant his heel firmly in the center of Professor Ebi’s chest. The history instructor tumbled backwards, his aura flashing green and dissolving into the air with a fizzle.

Unfortunately, his decisive grip on his weapon meant that Professor Branwen was dragged right along with him, and they hit the ground hard, one on top of the other, sliding a few feet before coming to a stop.

The students watched with baited breath as their professors didn’t move for a few extended, nail-biting seconds.

Then, Professor Ebi groaned loudly, and Professor Branwen slowly moved to prop himself up against her history professor’s broad chest, his dark red aura arcing across his body like lightning, but stubbornly refusing to break. Professor Ebi’s hands settled comfortably on Professor Branwen’s hips as both of their chests heaved, neither of them making a move to shift off of the other for _way_ too long.

“Well, hello,” Professor Ebi finally said on an exhale.

Olive could not restrain the palm of her hand from smacking directly into her forehead.

Professor Branwen stared for an admirably short amount of time before straightening up a little, apparently unworried about the fact that he was _still straddling his fellow professor in front of approximately fifty students_ , as a triumphant grin spread across his face. “I believe this means that I _continue_ to reign undefeated, lucky charm!” He crowed, cackling delightedly immediately after.

Cyrus’ answering sigh came from beside her, sounding appallingly dreamy.

Olive wondered if it wasn’t too late to drop out.


	3. Chapter 3

This was unbelievable.

The Vytal Festival would officially start in exactly one week, which meant that Beacon was finally holding the school dance that had had the entire academy abuzz for at least the past month. Paper lanterns were strung up all over the ballroom in a million different shades, casting their technicolor glow across the dancefloor. The columns that supported the roof were wrapped in gauzy tissue paper streamers all the way up to the ceiling. Tables had been pushed against the wall and adorned with shiny little centerpieces that contained the national colors of all four kingdoms. A confetti canon had apparently been used to scatter sparkling bits of foil over every square inch of the place.

And in the center of it all, Professor Ebi and Professor Branwen were bopping along enthusiastically to the poppy alternative song playing, ostensibly “chaperoning,” but obviously just dwelling contentedly in their own world.

_‘You shine like a star…_

_‘You know who you are…_

_‘You’re everything beautiful…’_

They made a stunning pair, both dressed to the nines in sharp-cut suits. Professor Branwen’s a deep black with silky red accents, the top buttons of jacket and undershirt undone to accentuate the line of his collarbone; Professor Ebi’s a shiny blueish-gray with an eye-catching cobalt tie done up in a tidy Eldredge knot and a pocket square to match. As if that weren’t enough, both teachers were clearly skilled dancers, and Olive wondered when the heck they’d found time to become so proficient between huntsman work.

_‘Oh, and I hope you don’t mind…_

_‘We could share my mood, yeah…_

_‘Two strangers in the bright lights…_

_‘I wish I knew you…_

_‘I wish I knew you…_

_‘Oh, I wish I knew you when I was young…’_

“Olive!” Carmine cheered from next to her, intertwining their arm with hers. “C’mon and give it a rest for one night—we’re supposed to be having fun!”

She looked at her team leader, their face and giddy grin illuminated fiery red by one of the lights overhead, their fluffy fox tail flicking back and forth behind them, and finally smiled and sighed, feeling like she was breathing out months’ worth of pent-up tension and stress.

“Y’know what, Carmine? You’re right.” She glanced back over her shoulder at her two professors for only a second. “Let’s go dance. Remus looks like he needs help.”

Cyrus was twirling Remus around the dancefloor, and the human one of the pair looked like he’d been tricked into the faux-tango under extreme duress. Meanwhile, Cyrus seemed overjoyed. Maybe just at Remus’ expense, or maybe because he got to dance with his dark-haired teammate, and _wow_ , Olive didn’t know how she’d missed _that_.

Carmine squeezed her upper arm, a grimace painted across their face, “We should probably help him. Cyrus can be… a little over-enthusiastic.”

One perfectly-executed Pincer maneuver later (if Olive did say so herself, and she did), she was standing just off to the side of all of the other dancers with Remus, while Carmine had taken his place in Cyrus’ exuberant hold, the two spinning across the dancefloor in an improvised cha cha that didn’t _quite_ fit the song, but that made them look like a whirling tornado of flame between the flaring scarlet of Carmine’s skirt and the shiny gold fabric of Cyrus’ suit jacket.

“When did they learn to do that?” Olive asked the room at large, taken off-guard.

“They’ve been teachin’ themselves for months, now,” Remus cocked his head at her, eyes calculating. “They started out doin’ combo moves, I think, and somehow that devolved into… well, _that_.”

Carmine and Cyrus flared out in different directions, each with a showy twist of their free hands’ wrists. They’d drawn the eyes of several bystanders by now.

“I guess you didn’t notice, though.” Her teammate’s stare felt like a physical weight. “You’ve been busy for a while, now, between obsessin’ over your professors’ relationship status and all of the constant studyin’.”

His tone was non-judgmental, but her face still burned with shame. She looked to her shoes. “I… didn’t even realize. I just get so curious….” She clenched her fist into the material of her long dress. “I’ve been a terrible teammate.”

“Hey,” Remus said gently, and then he was softly unwinding her fingers from their death-grip on the poor fabric and pressing a cup of punch into her hand, “That’s not true. And nobody thinks that. We just all wish you’d open up to us a bit more instead of bein’ so in your head about stuff.”

She gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Remus.”

He shrugged.

Somebody crashed into Olive’s back, suddenly, and she nearly spilled punch all over herself. She whipped around, intending to give them a piece of her mind, but found it was just Cyrus and Carmine coming back from their dancing, giggling and skin shimmering with a thin sheen of sweat, arms wrapped around each other.

“Sorry, Olive!” Carmine squeaked, their cheeks coloring to match their dress, though mirth lingered in their eyes, “We didn’t mean to bump into you!”

She chuckled awkwardly, “It’s fine. Why’d you stop dancing?”

Cyrus waved a flippant hand in the direction of the dancefloor, “DJ said she was going to be playing a couple of slow songs next, and me ’n’ Carmine haven’t learned how to waltz yet.”

“Plus, I don’t wanna slow dance with his dumb face.” Carmine beamed winningly.

“ _Hey_!”

The lights dimmed, then, and a bunch of other students worked their way off of the dancefloor, leaving just the couples remaining and making the outer edges of the ballroom far more crowded. Olive didn’t even think about looking over as a slower song kicked up, still holding just enough of a beat to dance to beyond nearly-stationary foot shuffling (unless, of course, you were a ballroom full of teenagers and young adults too anxious to do anything else).

' _Honeybee, could you imagine where our lives would lead?_

_‘That silly ring, it wasn’t meant to be,_

_‘Luckily you saw in me something I couldn’t see.’_

Olive took a deep breath in and out and turned to face Carmine and Cyrus. She wrung her hands anxiously in front of her. “Listen, guys, I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry for how I’ve been behaving the past few months. Remus made me realize that I really haven’t been present as part of this team, and I’m so sorry that I’ve been so caught-up in other things that don’t even matter that I haven’t noticed how much I’ve pulled away….”

_‘But here we are, after all the messes and confessions..._

_‘To the stars that we never really owned as ours.’_

Cyrus rested his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. We all could have made more of an effort to make you a part of things as well.”

“Cyrus is right,” Carmine wrapped themselves around her and squeezed her into a tight hug. “And we’re still just first years. We’re all new to this, too! But I’m positive we’ll get the hang of it. We’re going to be an amazing team once we get some more training in, I’m sure of it!”

Olive hesitated for only a second before hugging Carmine back. “Well, we’ve already got the best team leader. So that’s a good thing going for us, I think.”

Carmine pulled back, their mouth forming an ‘o’ shape and their eyes glittering.

“Hey, Olive…” Remus ventured cautiously, then tugged lightly on the shoulder strap of her dress to get her attention when she didn’t immediately look at him.

“Hm?”

“I know I just said you should stop obsessin’ over it, but uh… get a load of the dancefloor.” Remus looked pointedly over her shoulder.

_‘And if our world comes tumbling down, I never could forgive myself for leaving out…_

_‘You’re the one. You are the only one.’_

Olive raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, but turned around.

Her jaw dropped.

‘ _Such a fool._

_‘I took your love and I bent all the rules._

_‘You took the blow and didn’t let it show,_

_‘Stuck around to let me know,_

_‘Built a family of our own.’_

Professor Branwen and Professor Ebi were swaying softly with each other toward the center of the dancefloor, the lanterns overhead casting them in a dim glow. Professor Branwen’s head rested on Professor Ebi’s shoulder like it belonged there, his eyes were closed, and as Olive watched, feeling as though her entire world had shifted ten feet to the left, Professor Ebi tilted his chin up and captured his lips in a slow, tender kiss that Professor Branwen immediately melted into, sliding his arms up to hang over Professor Ebi’s shoulders.

_‘Look around._

_‘We made a garden of the love we found._

_‘So many reasons I would fight to stay,_

_‘You’re the courage when I fade,_

_‘Take a look at what we’ve made.’_

“What--!”

“ _Wooooo! Get it, Uncle Qrow!_ ” 

Someone beside her interrupted her dazed stammering, whooping loudly and shattering any pretense of a peaceful, romantic atmosphere.

Back on the dancefloor, Professor Branwen raised his hand for just long enough to flip off whoever had yelled before going right back to making out with Professor Ebi.

Olive, feeling like she was floating in some kind of dream-state, faced the person who’d been shouting.

A tall, busty blonde in a short, dark purple dress was cackling madly, evidently endlessly amused by her own antics. Her hair tumbled freely over her shoulders and down her back in long, thick ringlets that were incredibly eye-catching, and Olive wondered how she’d managed to miss her standing next to them—the woman certainly cut a striking figure.

Carmine stepped forward, a saint, to ask the many questions that Olive was too tongue-tied to. “Excuse me, ma’am, you know Professors Branwen and Ebi?”

The blonde turned to them and grinned, a little puzzled and a lot sharp.

Olive didn’t give much thought to dating and romance and the like, but she might’ve been a little in love.

“Depends who’s asking,” the woman stated and popped a hip out. She rested a hand on it, and Olive noticed for the first time that it—and the arm it was attached to—was a shiny prosthetic, glinting bright sunflower yellow.

“We’re some of their students,” Carmine said, gracing the woman with a disarming smile. “My teammate, Olive,” they gestured at her, “is in both of their classes, and we’ve all been attending their combat workshops these past few weeks.”

The woman squinted at them for a long—nerve-wracking and also oddly attractive, in a dangerous kind of way, and _come on, Olive, get a hold of yourself_ —minute before finally bursting into laughter. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Ah, it’s so easy to rile you guys up. I remember when I was like that.” She took a second more to laugh at their expense. “My name’s Yang. My gorgeous wife, Blake, is a TA in the same department that Clover is a professor in. And Qrow is my uncle.” She paused and tilted her head in thought. “Actually, I guess Clover is my uncle, too, seeing as how he’s married to Uncle Qrow, now. Huh, weird.”

What.

_What._

“ _What_?” Cyrus hissed, giving voice to her inner monologue. “Professor Ebi is Professor Branwen’s _husband_?!”

The woman— _Yang,_ and now that Olive thought about it, she could remember Professor Branwen mentioning that name during lecture once or twice—looked at him. Then she scowled, and wow, okay, her eyes had _definitely_ just flashed red. “Is that a problem, pipsqueak?”

Cyrus’ eyes grew as wide as dinner plates and he frantically waved his hands, all normal pretensions of being suave and put-together thrown right out the window in the face of the big, scary lady. “No, no! No problem! We just didn’t know that they were together?” It came out sounding a little more like a question, but after a brief period of scrutiny, Yang seemed to accept it as the truth, and the tension seeped out of her shoulders.

“I don’t know how anyone could possibly miss it. They’re not exactly subtle.” She peeked back over at the dancefloor, where Professor Branwen and Professor Ebi were back to dancing slowly together, and though she rolled her eyes, there was a fond smile on her face, shining warmly with something like pride. “Didn’t realize kids these days were so oblivious!”

“You’re barely any older than them, Yang.”

A slightly shorter woman with black cat ears appeared at Yang’s side suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere. Olive startled, but she didn’t feel too embarrassed about it, seeing as how Yang jumped, too.

“Mrs. Belladonna!” Carmine yelped from beside her.

The woman gave her a small, sincere smile. Her golden eyes matched the shade of her slim, floor-length gown. “Hello, Carmine. It’s nice to see you outside of class.” Then she looked up at Yang and frowned. “Yang, are you bullying students, again?”

Yang scoffed loudly, faking offense even as she slung an arm around the woman’s waist. “That doesn’t sound like me, and I’m insulted that you’d even accuse me of such a thing.”

“Mm,” the woman, who must’ve been Blake, said and handed a cup of water to her wife, “Why do they look petrified, then?”

“Beats me. I only threatened them a little.” Yang flashed a shark-like grin at her and her team. A shudder ran down Olive’s spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Nah, but I was just telling them about Uncle Qrow and Clover—you know, it just occurred to me that Clover is technically my uncle now, too.”

Blake raised a perfectly-plucked eyebrow up at Yang, and wow, Olive had really just fallen in love with _two_ women on the same night. For once, she understood how Cyrus felt. “You’ve only just realized that?”

“Hey!”

Blake turned back to them, her expression apologetic, “I’m sorry my wife terrorized you. Carmine, I’ll see you when the semester picks back up after the Vytal Festival.”

With that, she dragged her partner to the dancefloor, though she didn’t seem to be met with much resistance as Yang was obviously more than happy to go dance, despite her calls for the DJ to play something “less boring.”

And Olive simply stared after them, her team surrounding her in a sort-of bemused silence, and she turned her gaze back to Professor Branwen and Professor Ebi, wrapped up in each other and _apparently married this whole time_ , and only one thought came to her mind:

“What the _fuck_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally meant to be about 1500 words... 7.6k words later, here I am. Somebody help me.
> 
> And yes, all of the characters I made up do have intended allusions to them, though only two of them are super obvious, esp. since I didn't think it was relevant to give them their last names in the story. That said, fitting them into allusions and color names (even with the crutch of being able to use last names) and THEN into a team name after I'd already made the mistake of naming all of them was hell. How do they do that in RWBY? 
> 
> As a final note, I know the world is pretty scary right now, so I hope you all are taking time to yourselves and doing what you need to do to stay healthy, both physically and mentally. Love each other in these trying times and know that I love and believe in all of you.


End file.
